Once again, a little ketchup.

Riley is sitting here saying, "Take me! Take me!" He wants his walk. The sun is rising, the cardinals are singing their spring song for the first time this year, and it looks like it's going to be another glorious weird day in this glorious weirdly warm winter.

When last we spoke, I was (a) throwing things away, and (b) contemplating puppies.

I continue to throw things away, sometimes with a pang, sometimes without. I continue to wonder, aghast, How did we get so much stuff? We aren't packrats. Are we?

Once I brought a contractor in to make a bid on remodeling our bathroom, and when he went down the basement to check out the electrical box, he chuckled and said, "It's like a rabbit warren down here." He might have been referring to the peculiar layout of our basement--it's four odd little rooms rather than one big space--but I bristled, thinking he was referring to how it was crammed with stuff, and in the end I didn't hire him. Not only because of that comment, but, it must be confessed, partly because of it.

Today I will drive to Goodwill with a carful: Two sets of old dishes; more clothes; a box of kitchen odds and ends (old Tupperware; a brand-new coffee carafe that Gevalia sent us in the mail, unasked; a truly hideous glass pitcher I bought for iced tea and then refused to use because its turquoise green color makes the tea look like poison); and whatever else I can find between now and this afternoon.

None of it will make any difference. Our house will still be overfull.  What would make a difference would be if I could get rid of a couple thousand books. In the basement, we have six bookshelves, crammed full, which might explain why the basement is so crowded.

And we have 11 more bookcases spread around the rest of the house, some tall and narrow, some wide and long, all full as full can be, in every room except the kitchen and the bathroom.

That is what would make a difference in the clutter. And while it's true that I fill up paper grocery sacks on a fairly regular basis and drop them off at a used-bookstore (the one that accepts donations and then uses the money so that teachers can get free books), it's also true that books continue to flow into this house at a much faster pace than they ever leave it.

That's the way it's been all my life, and that's not going to change, and we are pretty used to weaving through the teetering stacks and moving a pile of books from the table to the floor if we need a place to set our coffee.

And speaking of coffee.... You saw that Riley and I were featured on the "Coffee with a Canine" blog last week; if you aren't following that blog, you should, because you'll meet all kinds of great dog-owning-writers there, and sometimes happen across a friend, which will make you shout out in joy: "Hey! I know them!"

Such as Charlene and Storm, who visit this blog fairly often and who are over there right now.

And that leads us to... puppies!  No, no puppy yet. We are stoically waiting for a few months, enjoying the freedom of just one low-maintenance dog. For the third weekend in a row, Doug and I are going on a date. For three years, one of us had to be home every night at 7 p.m. to give Boscoe his insulin, and now, suddenly, we are free to go to dinner, to go listen to music, to go out with friends. We are doing all three of those things tonight.

Still, Doug's sister keeps sending me links to puppy porn--aka links on petfinder.org--and I have been tempted repeatedly.  Keep sending those links, Mona. You never know when I will capitulate.

"Enough typing. Take me."

OK, buddy. Enough typing. Let's go.